


Friends Don't Destroy Each Other

by skyline



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Forest Sex, Howard is selfish and good at angsting he should quit life and work on his parenting skills, M/M, World War II, pre-established relationship with Ana so cheating probably, sex sex sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9840374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: “It’s infuriating,” Howard repeats. “How positively breathtaking and completely unavailable you are.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote porn on the plane back from Africa. That's all there is to say here.

Howard’s not a boots-on-the-ground kind of guy.

He likes to help the war effort – he’s a patriot, through and through – but in underground bunkers or plush officer’s tents, or even the occasional plane. And there’s a reason for that.

It’s that, as a rule, getting shot at is not his favorite thing.

“You brought this on yourself,” Jarvis informs him in that prissy British way of his. He’s exhausted most of the ammunition, but he’s keeping calm and carrying on, as these Brits are wont to do.

It’s admirable, really – Howard hasn’t known the man long, but his inimitable sass appears to be matched only by his staunch capacity for bravery. Jarvis plugs on, reloading his pistol and taking shaky aim.

He’ll miss, of course. Howard isn’t the only one who was never meant to be in the field.

He struggles to his feet, where he was pushed, viciously, when Jarvis eyed a bullet straying his way. Jarvis earned a grazed arm for his efforts, while Howard lost any chance of ever salvaging his trousers from the mud. It’s lucky he keeps a tailor fat and happy in every civilized town in Western Europe.

“Give me that,” Howard demands, swiping the gun from Jarvis’s white-knuckled grip. “I’d be a better shot blindfolded.”

“You needn’t be rude,” Jarvis admonishes, but he relinquishes the pistol with a minimal amount of fuss, gaze lingering on Howard’s a moment too long.

Howard has to force himself to look away, sighting their last two attackers with the same careful precision he employs in his workshop.

He doesn’t shoot to wound. One doesn’t, in war.

“Fine. I supposed your skills are serviceable.” Jarvis slumps against Howard, his weight and his warmth staggering. “Might we head back to base now?”

“Hey. I freed you from the brig, I decide when you get a break.” Howard frowns down at his filthy clothes. “You get a break now.”

“Glorious,” Jarvis exhales.

“But bad news, buddy.” Howard claps Jarvis on the shoulder and does not miss the way that Jarvis leans into the touch. He’s the worst kind of tease, even here in the muck. “Base camp is at least a day’s hike from here, and I don’t fancy the idea of these woods at night.”

Jarvis considers. “We can’t stay here. Encountering their friends would be…sub-optimal.”

“Not here,” Howard agrees. “We’ll find somewhere else to dig in for the night.”

And they do.

The fire they keep is banked, their bedrolls haphazard beside it. They’re coming down from the adrenaline, still antsy, but so exhausted. The night is alive with sounds – bats and small mammals, the chirp of bugs and nocturnal birds.

Then there’s Jarvis. Constantly moving. Irrepressibly there. He’s got all this restless energy that draws Howard’s eye, and. Well. Friendship is great. Friendship is fun.

Friendship is something Howard Stark doesn’t have much experience with. He has a vested interest in keeping Jarvis around.

So Howard says, “Tell me about your girl.”

He’s knows everything there is to know about Ana. He has since before her rescue mission was in its nascent stages.

She’ll be free by the end of the month, along with her family. But Howard wants to hear it from Jarvis’s perfect, pink lips.

He wants a reminder about why he should keep his hands to himself.

“Ana,” Jarvis sighs. “It’s been years since I’ve seen her. You – you will keep your word, won’t you?”

“Indubitably.”

The other man’s shoulders relax. “She’s beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world.”

“An impressive feat,” Howard whistles.

She is quite pretty in the photos, even in sepia.

Jarvis talks about how quick she is, to smile or to berate. The cakes she makes that taste like honeyed heaven. The time when they were barely out of childhood, before the war, and she let him steal a kiss. His words are a mantra, a hymn of perfect love.

Howard’s never felt like that, not about anybody. It’s beautiful.

It burns acidic in his stomach, envy of this woman, and yearning for the rest of it. He asks, “And you’ve never wanted anyone else? Something more?”

“What more is there?” Jarvis responds, with genuine curiosity in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Howard says honestly. “I’m still looking.”

In the firelight, Howards sees something strange written in the shadows and lines of Jarvis’s face. Uncertainty, perhaps, and a bit of a challenge. “Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places.”

Howard can’t take that dare at face value. He won’t.

Or, he shouldn’t.

Self-control isn’t a Stark virtue, is the problem. He’s propped on one arm, his bedroll a poor layer against the dirt and rocks and roots. He reaches his free hand across the earth, palm up.

Jarvis, similarly positioned, reaches back. A single finger grazes Howard’s palm.

Howard’s eyes flutter shut. He runs his thumb along the ridge of Jarvis’s hand, wrist to pinkie, and peeks at Jarvis’s face to watch the way his cheeks turn rosy.

Like it’s a secret he doesn’t want the woods to hear, Howard tells Jarvis, “It’s infuriating.”

“What is?” Jarvis’s fingers still, expression a mixture of guilt and fear.

Howard grips them, refusing to let him pull away.

“It’s infuriating,” he repeats, “How positively breathtaking and completely unavailable you are.”

Jarvis does his best impression of a beached fish, mouth gaping wide. But it quickly morphs into a quieter astonishment, one that softens his gorgeous, clever gaze. He focuses in on Howard like he’s the only thing left in these woods. “I bet you say that to all the soldiers.”

Truthfully, Howard replies, “You’re the only soldier I can tolerate. You’re the only one.”

There’s weight to his words that even Howard doesn’t expect, and they hang heavy in the air. But he’s alone in it – even behind enemy lines, Jarvis dares to laugh out loud. “Now I know you’re bluffing.”

Howard lifts a shoulder, a hurt shrug. Then, in a single, swift move, he’s pulled Jarvis across the camp, straight into his lap.

The maneuver could have gone badly, but Howard has practice and Jarvis has the long legs of a gazelle, skinny and swift and now comfortably seated on either side of Howard’s hips.

He gasps, and Howard nuzzles Jarvis’s collarbone, through the stiff starch of his uniform and the cold metal-press of all the honors that come with it.

“I often bluff. And lie, and use lines.” He risks a glance upward, watching Jarvis through his eyelashes. “But I’m not now. I haven’t thought of anyone new, not since the moment I saw you threaten mutiny on that General.”

Uncomfortably, Jarvis shifts. Howard can feel him, burning through his slacks. “For Ana. And you- you can’t promise me anything.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem.” Howard breathes hot at the base of Jarvis’s neck. Even through layers of cloth, Jarvis can clearly feel it. He shivers and grows harder. “I’ve known from the moment I saw you, Edwin. You’re going to be the one to break my heart.”

Jarvis makes a wounded noise.

He does it against Howard’s lips.

As far as kisses go, it’s hard and desperate, and once his tongue is involved, he ravages Howard’s mouth, forcing moans from him in a way no one has since Howard was a teenage amateur.

Christ, he thought Brits had a bad rep on this whole kissing thing.

Howard has to focus to take control of it, to slow the kiss down and then speed it up. And the more control he takes, the more Jarvis’s clothed erection becomes palpable. He hitches it against Howard’s in short, rhythmic rolls of his hips.

His hair is thick with pomade, but Howard musses it, massaging and wreaking havoc all at once.

He likes the way Jarvis looks devastated when they pull apart, gasping for oxygen, mouth swollen and dreamy-eyed.

Overhead, the stars dance in and out of clouds, obscured for long intervals by the canopy that rustles in the wind, then playing peek-a-boo with celestial light. It haloes Jarvis’s cheekbones, his brow; Howard’s very own warrior angel.

He meant what he said, about Jarvis breaking his heart. He’s never met a man with so much fear, tempered by so, so much courage. Jarvis may not be the best soldier in theater, but he’s the only one Howard would choose.

He fumbles open the front of Jarvis’s pants, pulling his belt from the loops and then shoving the whole mess down his thighs. Then he has him in hand, and oh, Howard thinks.

He’s magnificent in every possible way.

Involuntarily, his hips twitch, pants damp with pre-come. They really are beyond saving, but who cares?

“I want you to fuck me,” Howard begs, because he is a genius with too many stupid ideas.

There are universes in Jarvis’s pupils. He nibbles at his lower lip and asks roughly, “May I?”

“Polite bastard.” Howard yanks at his shirt collar, manhandling Jarvis against him so he can feel how badly Howard wants it. “I’ll die if you don’t. I swear I will.”

“That’s not physically possible.”

Howard palms over Jarvis, eliciting a groan. “Isn’t it?”

Jarvis murmurs a curse or a prayer against Howard’s skin.

“I take your point. Will you remove these dratted things?” He tugs at Howard’s pants.

Howard grins cheekily, then does the work of shimmying out of everything below the waist. “Your wish, my command.”

When he’s done, his cock bobs above the bristle of shorn dark hair, which tapers off just below his naval. Jarvis stares.

“Like what you see?”

“Inordinately.” The word is gruff, and it resonates in Howard. He’s self-conscious for a moment, struck by how different this is with someone he truly – well, cares for, and wants to keep around.

He’s going to ruin everything. Jarvis will go back to Ana and Howard will resent him for it, even as he buries his sadness in starlets and harlots and models. It’ll all just go to shit.

And still, he can’t stop touching Jarvis.

He does most of the prep work himself, with his fingers and Vaseline. Jarvis observes as though this is all a revelation – it can’t be, he’s in the _military_ – or maybe, as though Howard has stolen his ability to do anything else.

He wears that same astonished expression when Howard seats himself on Jarvis’s leaking cock. This part is Howard’s favorite. There’s something about that first moment of penetration, that volcanic connection of heat and flesh and too much emotion, that gets him every time.

Jarvis runs his hands across the planes of Howard’s chest while Howard sinks onto him. His mouth drops open, ripe for kissing, and Howard does. The angle is awkward, but he manages for the briefest moment. Then he pulls back, the steady throb of Jarvis inside him urging him onward.

Howard rides him slowly. He wants to draw this out. He wants to do this forever.

But the more it goes on, the harder Jarvis fucks him, until all Howard can do is rock back and gasp, “Edwin,” over and over, until his voice breaks on the word.

They change positions, Howard on his knees, and Jarvis’s hands wrapped steely at his hips. That makes it easier for Jarvis to slip inside him, for the magma heat of his cock to lance all the way up Howard’s spine. Howard can feel his ass give against the sharp edges of Jarvis’s bony hipbones.

He touches himself and bites his tongue to keep quiet. He wants to sob with how good it feels.

Jarvis bites Howard’s neck, sloppy and electric. “Come for me, Howard. This once, I want to see you.”

He matches the command with strokes of his hand over Howard’s. It’s brutal efficacy, matched with the tempo of his hips. And Howard is wanton, Jarvis buried so deeply inside him that he can’t feel anything other than the thrum of his pulse, his sweat-slick skin. He’s wanton, burning up; he’s screaming, and he’s lost.

Jarvis thrusts wildly when he begins to spasm, his grip on Howard’s waist long-fingered and tight. Right before he comes, he buries his head in Howard’s shoulder, and Howard clutches him as close as he can while he paints his insides white.

“It’s okay,” he mutters, still shuddering. His hands reach back, blindly roaming the notches of Jarvis’s ribcage. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Jarvis shifts awkwardly in Howard, coming down from it all. With great seriousness, he drops a peck on the ladder of Howard’s spine. “I’m the one who has you.”

“Yeah,” Howard agrees, equally serious. He strains back to kiss Jarvis on the mouth, open and sweet and like nothing they can ever have again. “You do.”

After that, there’s nothing left to say.


End file.
